


To Have and to Hold

by Dolimir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts used: Dean with a power and domesticity, Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Have and to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kellifer_fic in the 2008 SPN_Summergen Challenge.
> 
> My thanks to Mahaliem for audiencing the story, and to Dine and Dayspring for betaing it.

“Hey, sweetie, would you hand me Sammy’s bottle? The hungry little monster’s about to awaken and if we don’t appease him quickly he’s going to be making his wrath known in fairly short order.”

Dean looked up from his circus coloring book, then down the length of the coffee table. Carefully placing his jumbo green crayon in the crease of the book, he wiggled his fingers toward the bottle, but didn’t make any other movement.

Mary Winchester’s eyes widened as the clear plastic baby bottle moved in short jerks and stops across the coffee table and into the hands of her eldest son. With a proud smile, he scrambled to his feet and handed it to her.

“Thank you, baby.” Mary’s voice was barely audible as she attempted to speak past the lump in her throat.

She had prayed so hard, and after four years she had been so sure, but now… Cutting off that train of thought, she accepted the bottle and gently nudged the rubber nipple into the mouth of her one-month old son, effectively silencing his growing mewls.

Dean flopped back onto the floor, picked up a broken red crayon and went back to carefully coloring a tent in his book.

Mary watched her youngest suck on his bottle for several moments while she tried to calm her roiling thoughts. When she thought she might be able to speak again, she focused her attention back on her eldest.

“Dean?”

Bright green eyes found hers.

She pointed to the other end of the table again. “Can you hand me that magazine?”

He nodded happily, then pushed himself back to his feet and ran to the end of the table. Once he picked up the magazine, he quickly brought it back to her. The smile on his face was so infectious she couldn’t help but return it.

“Here, Mama,” he said proudly.

But instead of accepting it, she shook her head and made her smile bigger, even though she wasn’t feeling the joviality she was projecting.

“Can you do me another favor?”

Dean nodded eagerly.

“Can you put the magazine back where you found it?”

His eyebrows crinkled, but he obediently ran back to the end of the table and dropped it, completely ignoring the fact that he left it balanced precariously on the edge.

“Okay, now come back here.”

He ran to her side and lifted his face toward hers, silently demanding a kiss for his compliance. She leaned over the arm of her chair and brushed her lips over his rosy cheek. Once rewarded, she watched as his attention drifted back to his drawings as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.

Shifting Sam so that he was positioned securely on the armrest on the opposite side of the chair, Mary balanced the bottle so he could keep eating, then reached out and took Dean’s hand.

“Dean?”

He looked back at her, his gaze one of curious affection.

“Can you bring me the magazine again?”

Dean grinned goofily at her, silently letting her know that her game was pretty silly, but he’d play anyway.

He started forward, but she tightened her grip, not enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know he wasn’t supposed to move. Frowning, he tried to step forward again, but she continued to hold him back.

“No, sweetie. Get it like you did with Sammy’s bottle.”

Confusion fluttered over his face and she lost herself for a moment watching his long eyelashes play over his freckled cheeks. But as quickly as the bewilderment came, it disappeared. Raising his free hand toward the magazine, his face scrunched in concentration until the magazine slid across the table like a hockey puck over ice. When it was within his grasp, he clutched its slick pages and handed it to her, then once again presented his cheek for his reward.

She chuckled softly, then bussed a kiss on the side of his face, making him giggle.

“Hey, Dean?” She playfully tapped his nose, making sure his attention didn’t drift.

“Yes, Mama?”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get the magazine.”

His brows crinkled again as he shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did you think it?”

“Think it?”

“In your head. Did you say, ‘ _Come here’_?”

Dean smiled and nodded. His eyes drifted down to his coloring book.

“Hey, sweetie.”

His gaze lifted to meet hers again.

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you’ll only think ‘ _Come here’_ to things in the house.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“And only when I’m around.”

“How about with Daddy?”

“No. Just me.”

“How about Sammy?”

Mary thought for a moment. “Okay. After all, you’re a big brother and it’s your job to look after Sammy.”

“Am I the best big brother?”

“Yes. You are. You’re the best big brother in the whole wide world.”

His toothy grin told her how much he liked that answer.

With practice, there was no limit to what Dean might accomplish, but she knew she’d have to be careful with the way she approached John with the subject. He would be disbelieving at first; maybe even a little scared, but she truly believed that ultimately his love for her and for his sons would win out. She looked at her son and tried to convey her seriousness, without scaring him. “But you need to remember what I told you.”

“Not with Daddy?”

“Not with Daddy. Not yet, at least. Okay?”

He rolled his head back and forth on his shoulders like he thought she was being silly again, but finally nodded. “Okay, Mama.”

“Good boy, Dean. Good boy.”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

While Dean didn’t know a lot about the world in general, he was pretty sure he had a firm grasp on a few truths. For instance, he knew the fire had somehow changed everything in his life and that nothing would ever be the same again. He knew that while there were a lot of presents under the crooked plastic tree in the corner that he never felt less like celebrating Christmas than he did right at that moment. In fact, he was pretty sure he never really wanted to celebrate it again. He also knew that his mommy had lied about there being angels who watched over his family while they slept.

He still wasn’t sure why everyone was so convinced his mommy wasn’t coming back, but knew better than to ask his daddy again. Because while he never heard anyone specifically say so, he was pretty sure there was a rule about how daddies weren’t supposed to cry and if they did really, really bad things would happen.

Dean remembered his mommy taking him to a park that had rides just for little guys like him. His favorite had been the bumper cars. He remembered laughing as his car lurched uncontrollably around the rink. But now that everything in his life seemed to be careening out of control, he wasn’t sure he could ever enjoy bumper cars again either.

He and Daddy and Sammy had been staying with Uncle Mike and Aunt Katie. Even though Katie tried her best to help, she couldn’t seem to make Sammy stop crying. Dean wanted to tell her that Sammy just wanted their mommy, but couldn’t seem to make himself say the words, which scared him. He wondered if he was broken like the jack-in-the-box that wouldn’t pop up after the music stopped because Sammy had thrown it. Now it popped up at odd times, almost exploding from its little box. Dean wondered if someday maybe he would just explode too.

His daddy tried to get him to talk for a while. But then one night before he put Dean to bed, daddy told him not to worry, that each person grieved in their own way and that when he wanted to talk again, he would. Dean wasn’t sure what grieved meant, but it still made him feel better that Daddy wasn’t angry.

Of course, Daddy wasn’t happy either. It seemed like he was either mad or sad most of the time. Sometimes he looked empty, like all of his feelings had disappeared, and that frightened Dean most of all.

His daddy had taken to mumbling to himself. Dean tried to listen, but his daddy kept muttering words like impossible and unnatural. Dean didn’t know what those words meant and couldn’t piece together what his father was trying to say.

Two days ago, Daddy had gotten him and Sammy out of bed and left first thing in the morning. They didn’t even get to say good-bye to Uncle Mike or Aunt Katie. Dean thought maybe they were going home, but they didn’t.

Instead, they drove for a really long time and when they finally stopped daddy took them into a room that was nothing more than two lumpy beds, a beat up old dresser and a television that only got one channel. The carpet was really dirty. Dean knew his mommy would never let Sammy crawl on it, although he knew he didn’t really need to worry about Sammy crawling anywhere at the moment as he was teething and doing nothing but crying all the time.

The only time Sammy was quiet was when he was rocking in a mechanical swinging chair like the one his mommy used to call a godsend.

Although he was supposed to be asleep, Dean couldn’t get comfortable in the huge bed with the stiff pillows that smelled funny. He watched his father wind the crank that would set Sammy in motion. His father would then take a giant swallow out of his glass and stare at the wall, occasionally mumbling to himself. Eventually, the swing would rock to a stop and Sammy would begin to stir. As soon as Sammy whimpered, his father would wind the swing and start the process again.

Dean remembered that his mommy said he wasn’t supposed to think things around his daddy, but she had also told him he was supposed to watch after Sammy. Even daddy had told him he was supposed to take care of Sammy.

Worrying his bottom lip, Dean waited until the swing began to slow, then gently nudged it with his mind, telling it to keep swinging. His daddy continued to stare at the wall, but without Sammy’s fussing, he stopped drinking and eventually fell asleep, lulled by the mechanical clinks of the swing.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

When Dean was five and a half, he watched a program about elephants. While he found everything about the giant beasts fascinating, he was especially intrigued by the fact that some villages in Asia would tie their baby elephants to huge stakes so they wouldn’t wander off at night. Even though the babies pulled and pulled, they couldn’t get away from the stake. Eventually, they’d stopped trying.

Later in life, when the elephants were full grown and capable of pulling huge trees through the jungle, their handlers tied them to the same stakes they had been tied to as children so they wouldn’t wander away while everyone was sleeping. Even though the elephants could easily pull the stakes out of the ground, they didn’t, because they truly believed they couldn’t…because as children they had tried and failed.

Sammy was driving both Dean and their dad crazy by crawling everywhere and getting into things he shouldn’t. But after watching the program, Dean had an idea. While Sammy usually did okay in a playpen, their daddy said it was too much of a hassle to carry something that big around in the car, so he’d put Sammy on a big fluffy blanket instead. Dean’s job was to make sure he didn’t get into trouble while their dad studied his books.

Dean made sure all of Sammy’s favorite toys were on his blanket, then set his brother in the center of it. Whenever, Sammy tried to move off the blanket, Dean would gently put up an invisible wall to impede Sammy’s progress.

At first, Sammy looked affronted, wondering who was holding him back. But when he saw Dean sitting in the opposite corner of the blanket and their father at the table, he looked surprised. No one was holding him against his will, yet he couldn’t move forward. He fussed a little, but Dean successfully distracted him with a toy.

It only took a week, but after that Sam basically stopped trying to get off the blanket on his own. He’d forget every once in a while, but Dean was always ready for him.

Their dad couldn’t get over how well behaved Sam was and told Dean he was doing a good job with his brother. Dean glowed in the warmth of those words for a long time. Despite everything, he was still the best big brother in the world.

And if, in future years, Sam’s eyes would grow huge at the mere thought of moving a leg off a picnic blanket, Dean couldn’t be blamed for snickering. Really.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Balancing the piping hot casserole dish between his gloved hands, Melvin Kline tried to keep the shopping bags dangling from his elbow from hitting the porch rails as he gingerly climbed the ice covered stairs to his rental. Well, not that it could ever be considered a rental in its current state of disrepair.

Sue Ellen had managed to make him feel like pond scum for allowing John Winchester and his boys to live in such a roach-infested clap trap. Truth be told, he wished he could offer something better to his guests, but the only other thing he owned other than their own tiny house was this even tinier one bedroom place. Melvin had bought the property thinking he’d fix it up and supplement their income a bit, but that had been before his heart attack.

Melvin had tried to give John some money to compensate him after he’d been injured getting rid of the cursed vase Sue Ellen had bought at a garage sale. John had refused, somehow guessing that things were financially tight for him and Sue Ellen.

While he couldn’t pay John’s medical bills, he could let them stay free-of-charge in the rental. He had apologized profusely for its state of disrepair, but John had simply smiled and thanked him for his kindness.

At least the bed and couch were in good repair. John should be able to recover with some modicum of comfort.

Melvin pushed the doorbell and winced when he heard the pleasant chime short out into a mashed groan.

“Dean.” Melvin heard John call out and winced again, thinking the place could probably use some more insulation as well.

The door rattled, as if small hands were having trouble turning the ancient sticky knob, before it opened.

“Greetings, young master Winchester.”

The small boy turned his head and looked over his shoulder, probably at his father, before receiving some sort of signal that it was okay to let him in. He gave Melvin a tentative smile as opened the door wider.

John waved him in from the couch. “Come on in, Melvin.”

Melvin stomped his feet, knocking as much of the snow off his shoes as he could before he stepped inside.

“Afternoon, John. Sue Ellen sent over dinner. I hope your boys like spaghetti.”

“Sketti!” Melvin looked over to find a tiny boy clapping his hands from the middle of a plush blanket situated right smack in front of the wall heater.

Melvin chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You don’t have--”

“Nonsense. It’s the very least we can do.”

Melvin moved into the front room as Dean shut the door behind him. He gently placed the casserole dish on the coffee table, then started pulling out Chinet plates and silverware from the first plastic bag.

“Everything’s still pretty hot considering the weather.” Melvin pulled out a loaf of French bread and a container of shredded cheese from the second bag. He watched as Dean silently nodded his head toward the kitchen. John answered the boy’s silent question with his own nod and the boy scrambled into the kitchen.

A second later, Dean was carrying a high chair that was taller than he was into the front room.

“Sketti! Sketti! Sketti!” While the little one, Sammy, if Melvin remembered correctly, bounced excitedly from the edge of the blanket, he remained where he was, sensibly staying out of his brother’s way.

Once Dean had the chair where he wanted it, he removed the tray with an expertise that only comes from repeating a task over and over. Then without waiting for any other instructions, he walked to the blanket and picked his brother up, smiling as Sammy wrapped his legs around his middle like a baby monkey clinging to its mama.

Melvin’s eyes widened as Dean not only carried his brother to the chair, but lifted him into the seat, making sure to strap his brother in before putting the tray back in place.

“Winchesters certainly come from sturdy stock!” Melvin exclaimed. “What sort of vitamins are you feeding that boy?”

John smiled proudly at his eldest son as he watched him accept a plate from Melvin and take it back to his youngest. “He’s a good boy. I’d be lost without him.”

Melvin nodded absently. “He’s a keeper alright.” He continued to watch Dean as he moved back to his father’s side and helped him keep his leg straight as he turned to sit upright. “Are you all staying warm enough?”

“Yes.” John nodded, then smiled his thanks to his son as he accepted the offered plate.

“I’m sorry about the roaches though.”

John blinked at him curiously. “Roaches?”

“Yeah, no matter what I try, nothing seems to work.”

“There aren’t any roaches in the house, Melvin.”

Melvin’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. Whatever you tried last time must have worked.”

Melvin shook his head and gave John a curious shrug. “All righty then.”

“Please tell Sue Ellen thank you.”

Taking that as his cue to leave, Melvin moved to the door. “Like I said, it’s the least we can do.”

Melvin opened the door and shut it quickly behind him. If the roach problem was solved, then maybe he might be able to rent the place out after John recovered. That would be an exceptional twist of fate.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Dean dutifully followed his father into the woods, trying not to worry that Sammy was probably running Pastor Jim ragged. Sam had discovered the word no and enjoyed bellowing it at the top of his lungs, even if he actually wanted the item being offered to him. Pastor Jim was used to little old ladies who fluttered, tittered and preened for his attention, not two year olds who could disappear the moment one’s back was turned.

However, his dad had told him they had an important errand to run and that he needed Dean to come with him. He didn’t often get his dad’s undivided attention and so pushed his guilt at abandoning his brother to the side in favor of an adventure.

Even though it was summer, the forest floor was littered with matted leaves. Dean found himself taking in his surroundings in quiet awe. He hadn’t even noticed that his father had stopped beside a fallen tree until he ran into the back of his legs.

His dad dropped his backpack to the ground, ruffled Dean’s hair affectionately, then picked him up and sat him on the log so they were practically eye to eye.

“Wondering what we’re doing out here?”

Dean nodded and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. He was curious, but he never liked to question his father.

As if understanding his predicament, John casually leaned against the tree, so that he wasn’t looking Dean directly in the eye.

“You and I’ve been a team now, for what, almost two years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do my research if it wasn’t for you doing such an outstanding job watching after Sammy.”

Dean dipped his head slightly to hide his blush.

John wiped a hand over his face. “You know I’m trying to find the thing that killed your mother, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean remembered every word of that conversation and how the last vestiges of feeling safe had floated out into the night, even as he remembered his relief when his father told him they were going to keep the information away from Sammy for as long as possible.

“And while I’m doing that, I’m hunting other things, evil things, so they can’t hurt any more innocent people.”

“Like Mama.”

“Yes, son. Like your mother.”

Dean nodded to let his father know they were on the same page.

“Sometimes though, what I hunt is smart.”

Hearing that little tidbit of information did not make Dean happy. He frowned. “Smarter than you?”

His father grinned and ruffled his hair again. “Not possible.”

Dean giggled, then leaned into his father’s hand, seeking comfort, which John indulged for several moments. He then turned so they were facing each other again. “But sometimes…sometimes, son, they hunt back.”

All the breath in Dean’s lungs left him in one whoosh and he felt cold, even though it was a warm day. “Dad. Sammy.”

“I know, son, which is why I think it’s time to teach you how to hunt and how to protect yourself so you can protect Sammy when I’m not there.”

The weight of responsibility settled heavily onto Dean’s shoulders, but he nodded just the same.

“It’s going to be hard work, son. Not only do you need to learn about weapons, but you’ll need to train, to grow up to be smart and strong.”

“I can do it, dad. You know I can.”

“I know you can, bud, which is why we’re out here today.”

Dean started to frown, but his eyes grew wide as his father took his pistol from his waistband and laid it on Dean’s lap. “We’ll eventually get around to talking about specs and the best way to clean a weapon, but for today, I just want you to get used to holding one. Go on, touch it. It doesn’t have any bullets in it, so you don’t have to worry about it going off.”

Dean hesitantly touched the barrel.

“A weapon is a tool. Yes, it can be dangerous, but it’s not to be feared.”

The metal felt cool, almost silky to the touch as he ran his finger over the barrel. Feeling his father’s eyes upon him, Dean swallowed hard and picked the pistol up in both hands.

“It’s just metal, son. It’s basically nothing but a machine. But if you treat it right, if you respect it, it’s a machine that can keep you safe.”

Dean nodded as he got used to the weight in his hands.

“Do you think you might like to fire it?”

“Today?” Dean looked at his father, awe and surprise warring over his features.

“I don’t expect you to hit anything today, but I’d like for you to get used to the way it feels, to feel the way it kicks, to basically get comfortable with it.”

To keep Sammy safe, he thought, I’d face anything. “Okay.”

“Good man.”

Dean handed the pistol back to his father, careful not to point the barrel at either his dad or himself. His caution earned him a proud nod as his father took the weapon back, making him feel a lot more mature than his six years. John slipped the pistol into the back of his pants. Once it was secure, he picked Dean up by the armpits and set him on the ground beside him, then picked up his backpack. The sound of the pack unzipping seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet woods.

Dean watched in fascination as John pulled several aluminum cans out of his pack and placed them on the tree where he had just been seated. After he lined up six cans, he took Dean’s hand and guided him back nearly twenty paces.

Kneeling beside Dean, John put a clip in the handle of the weapon. He wrapped his arms around Dean, so that Dean stood in front of him, then brought Dean’s hands up so that they properly wrapped around the hilt of the automatic.

“For starters, I just want you to pull the trigger. Don’t worry about aiming it or hitting anything, I just want you to feel what will happen.”

Dean swallowed hard, but nodded.

“On three, I want you to gently squeeze the trigger. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“On three. One. Two. Three.”

Dean pulled the trigger and was shocked by the way the gun jumped in his hand and grateful that his father’s hands were still over his.

“Did you feel the kick?”

“Yeah.”

“Scary?”

He considered his answer for a moment. “No. Not really.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I was expecting it.”

“Exactly. Fear comes from ignorance. The better prepared you are, the less you’ll be scared.” His dad dropped his hands so that they were on Dean’s hips. “Want to try and fire it yourself?”

“Okay.”

Knowing what to expect did make firing the gun a second time easier. It still vibrated in his hands, but he didn’t even come close to dropping it.

“That’s great, son.”

“Okay, now remember the cans on the log?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to picture shooting them in your head, like you’re telling the bullet where to go.”

Dean started at his father’s chosen words.

“See what you want to happen. It’s okay if you don’t hit anything, the point is to get in the right mind frame.”

“Think the bullets to the cans?” Dean asked, wanting clarification.

“Yes.”

Looking at the first can, Dean lifted the gun with both hands, aimed the pistol and gently squeezed the trigger. A second later the first can flipped into the air and landed on the ground.

“That’s my boy!” Pride clearly rang in John’s voice. “I can’t…I just…Wow. Do you want to try it again?”

Dean nodded, concentrating on the next can as he pulled the trigger again. His father’s laughter told him he’d hit the second one as well.

All in all, he hit every can on the log. When they were done, John lifted him onto his shoulder and carried him back to the car.

A small part of Dean conscience worried that he shouldn’t have used his thinking power like he had, but he justified it by telling himself that his father had all but told him to do it. And if it meant keeping Sammy safe then he had no regrets.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Jim Murphy held out a condensation wet bottle of beer before his friend had even reached the bottom step of his porch. “Get it?”

John grimly shook his head, even as he accepted the bottle, knowing he wasn't going any further until Jim had had his say.

“The other children?”

“The last one died this morning.”

Jim scooted over several inches, making room for his friend. “Think the cycle is finished?”

Twisting off the cap, John took a deep swallow then nodded his head. “I didn’t kill it, but I hit it, maybe even hurt it. It’s going to lie low while it heals. And it knows I’ll be looking for signs. I don’t think it’s going to risk a pick-me-up round anytime in the near future.”

A cool breeze blew across the porch, bringing with it the sound of bullfrogs from down by the pond.

“How many?”

“Ten.”

Jim closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer for the families of the dead children. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Who else am I going to blame?”

“You saw the pattern when no one else did, and you tried. If you’re going to blame someone, you might as well blame God for allowing such a creature to exist.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“Fair enough.”

Minutes ticked by in companionable silence as both men lost themselves in their own thoughts.

“I saw the way you looked at him before you left.”

“Jim--”

“He hasn’t left Sam’s side, unless forced, for the last four weeks.”

“That’s a bit like shutting the barn door after all the cows have escaped, isn’t it?”

“He’s suffering, John. I mean, truly suffering.”

John remained silent.

“He’s giving me flashbacks to ‘Nam.”

Turning his head, John raised an eyebrow.

“It’s his eyes. No one that young should look so haunted.”

“I gave him an order.”

“He’s ten, John.” Before John could speak, Jim waved him silent. “He’s been following your orders for six years. Faithfully. Without fault. Even you can’t claim that sort of obedience to the Corps.”

“But…”

“Before, it was all theory, could be’s, perhaps, training scenarios that had no real place in his world. I guarantee, John, guarantee that he is never going to give you less than one hundred percent ever again.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t all for naught.”

Jim twisted the wedding band on his finger. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Jim--”

“Throw the boy a bone.”

“Ten children are dead.”

“Do not lay that at his feet, John. Do not. There was never any guarantee you could’ve stopped the cycle before it would’ve ended naturally.”

“I know.”

Silence reigned for several moments after that quiet admission.

“I’ve been forcing him outside for two hours each day, to give Sam some peace. The poor boy is starting to feel like a bug on a specimen slide.”

“I did notice the wood pile as I drove up.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I refused to give him an axe. He’s been bringing pieces in from the woods. I don’t think there’s a dead branch lying on the ground anywhere in the immediate vicinity.”

“The wood looks rather strange.”

“Strange?”

“Like a tree exploded. Like several of them did, actually.”

“We had a hell of a storm a few weeks back. I’m thinking he’s been converting one of its victims into my wood pile.”

John pushed himself to his feet.

“John--”

Haunted blue eyes turned toward him. “I left them alone. I underestimated the witch’s intelligence and I almost lost Sammy. Dean isn’t the only one who made a mistake.”

Jim nodded, but didn’t follow his friend into the house. The Winchester men needed some time alone, but he was confident they would survive as a family – intact.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“If you were a superhero, who would you be?” Sammy stared at Dean over his comic book, patiently waiting for an answer.

Dean blinked as he looked up from his own comic book and focused on his brother, who was lying supine on their father’s neatly made bed. “Wolverine.”

“Everyone wants to be Wolverine.”

“That’s because he’s a bad ass.”

Sammy shrugged as he considered that answer. “Okay, so who’d be your second choice?”

“Batman.”

“Why not Superman?”

“Ah, young Padawan, where have I gone wrong?”

“Hey, Superman’s cool.”

“I suppose, for an overgrown boy scout.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you don’t mind wearing your underwear on the outside…like a dork.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Whatever, Professor X.”

“Superman can fly.”

“So can half the superheroes.”

“Neither Wolverine or Batman can fly.”

“Neither one of them have to worry about being shot out of the air either.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“That’s actually a good point.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“You know, dad said I could really bite you the next time you said that.”

“Try it and find your teeth under the bed.”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back down at his comic book. “Flying would be cool though.”

Dean ignored him.

“Who do you think is hotter: Rogue or Jean Grey?”

“Rogue.”

“Really?”

“You don’t?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that you seem to read a lot more Jean Grey’s stories.”

Dean shrugged. “What’s not to like about the Phoenix?”

“Hey, Rogue was a bad girl too. Once.”

“Yeah, but power-wise, Jean would kick her ass.” Dean focused back on his comic.

“True. So what superpower would you want to have?”

Dean looked up again and frowned.

“Out of all of them, which would you choose?” Sam rolled, so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning ever so slightly toward his brother. “I think I’d like to have telekinesis.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“Just think of everything you could do, like changing the channel without having to get up.”

“That’s what remotes are for, genius.”

“Yeah, but some of the places we’ve stayed…”

“True.”

“You could carry really heavy things without breaking a sweat.”

“Because being a pack mule would be so much fun.”

“Hey, I’d take it, especially on one of dad’s hikes. Although I can never figure out why our packs weigh so much more when we’re standing still, but they’re not so bad when we walk.”

Dean shrugged and started to turn away, but Sam’s voice grew more excited.

“Doesn’t Jean Grey fly using telekinesis?”

“Yeah.” Dean sat up and moved to the edge of the bed so that he was facing Sam. Cautiously, he added, “I bet with telekinesis you could direct bullets toward a target so you’d never miss.”

“Man, that would be so cool.”

“And maybe, you could create a force field around you so that things couldn’t get near you.”

“Like the things Dad hunts?”

“Yeah.”

“That would be awesome!”

“Or maybe trip things trying to attack you.”

“You could toss things at bad guys like Darth Vader did to Luke.”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, we totally need to draw a comic book about a hunter with telekinesis. That would seriously rock.”

Dean permitted himself a small smile.

“It would be the coolest comic book ever!” Sam wiggled with happiness over the mere thought.

Dean laid back down, but his grin didn’t die. Yeah, it really would be the coolest thing ever.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Cheap motels were a dime a dozen. Backwater motels without a basement in the middle of Bumfuck, Oklahoma were a crime against humanity.

Dean placed his and Sammy’s packed bags in the bathtub and nervously looked around the bathroom. The wind outside their room was howling so loudly that not only did the windows shake, but the walls as well. When he stepped into the bedroom, he found his brother intently watching the weather report.

“We’re under a tornado advisory,” Sam told him.

Dean nodded; he would've been shocked if they weren’t. “Why don’t you help me lug this mattress into the bathroom?”

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Will it fit?”

“Yes, even if I have to cut it up.” Dean pulled the sheets off the mattress then laid them in the bottom of the tub.

“Is there even going to be room for us in there?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Of course. Believe me, if we have to spend any amount of time in there, you’re going to be thankful for the extra padding.”

Sam stepped out of his way and followed him back to the bed. “When’s dad supposed to be back?”

At eleven, Sam was constantly trying to prove he was independent, but the quaver in his voice told Dean that, for once, he wished their father was there. He totally knew how the kid felt.

“Today. He could be here any moment.” Dean pulled the mattress onto its side, grateful for the first time since they arrived at the rat trap that the beds were only singles instead of fulls or queens. It had sucked when Dad was home because it meant he either had to sleep with Sammy, who had a tendency to toss and turn, or on the lumpy couch.

Sam struggled with the other end of the mattress.

“Like this, Sammy.” Dean demonstrated the grip he wanted Sam to use, even as he concentrated on lightening Sam’s side.

A boom of thunder reverberated around the room, and Sam scurried to comply.

It took some maneuvering, but they got the mattress propped at an angle so they could jump in the tub and pull it on top of them at a moment’s notice.

“What about dad?”

“What about him?”

“There won’t be enough room in the tub if he gets here and there’s a tornado.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a tornado, Sam. All this,” Dean waved to their fort in the tub, “is just a precautionary measure. You wouldn’t want Dad to come home and find us lounging around watching cartoons, would you?”

Sam’s eyes widened, then furiously shook his head.

“Always be prepared.”

“Like the Boy Scouts?”

Dean shrugged. “Or for dad to come home.”

Sam tried to smile at his joke, but failed miserably.

A low siren started to wail in the distance and was quickly joined by a second and a third, until there was a chorus screaming about impending danger.

“Dean?”

But Dean was already pushing him toward the bathroom. “In the tub, brat.”

Sam hastened to comply, but stopped when he noticed his brother wasn’t joining him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to check the window.”

Sam started to swing a leg back out. “Then I’ll…”

“Put that on the floor and I’ll break it. Now get in the tub and lie down!”

Sam’s already ashen skin managed to look even paler, but he pulled his foot back, then knelt in the tub and attempted to nestle into the blankets on the bottom.

Dean had only taken a few steps into the main room when he saw the hotel sign fly by their window and heard it lodge into a SUV parked a couple doors down from them.

The walls started to shake in earnest as a rumbling, like an approaching train, grew louder. Without a second thought, he spun and ran back to the bathroom. He scrambled into the tub and tugged the mattress until it laid flat over them.

“Dean?” Sammy practically had to shout to be heard over the cacophony of wind as their world went dark.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Sammy,” Dean shouted back. Using his power, he pushed his hands and feet into the mattress and wrapped them as best he could around the bed springs. Then concentrating with ever atom of his being, he pictured a bubble around them.

The roof tore off the building with a groan and debris fell against the bubble. Dean grunted, but quickly reinforced the nicks and dents.

Dean felt Sam wrap his arms around his waist and was only dimly aware that his shirt was becoming wet. He didn’t like the idea that Sam was so scared he was crying, but there wasn’t any way to comfort his brother, knowing he needed to focus all his energy on the bubble.

The tub jarred as the walls tore away. When the tub started to move, Dean plunged a mental spike into the ground, desperately looking for bedrock. The tub rolled onto its side and Dean shouted in agony, even as he widened the spike, casting about for anything to anchor it onto.

“Dean?”

“Pray for us, Sammy. Pray for us.”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Pain, like John hadn’t known since seeing Mary on the ceiling, pierced his chest as the Impala crested the hill in time for him to watch the tornado decimate the hotel that had been their home for the past month. He'd been flying over the back roads, desperate to reach the hotel first, knowing Dean would have had Sam ready for an immediate evac. All he needed was a friggin’ minute. Just sixty seconds.

But he had arrived too late.

Again.

The silence when John finally exited the Impala went beyond oppressive. The swallows that usually swooped over the fields beside the motel were conspicuously absent and the cicadas’ normal drone had been silenced, as if they’d never existed.

The only sound John could hear was the beating of his own heart in his ears.

“God.” John dropped to his knees, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the devastation in front of him. “I’ve been angry with you for a very long time. But please.” A sob broke his prayer. “I…please.” Each word was spoken with a huge intake of breath.

“Dean. Wake up. Please don’t leave me alone. Please.”

John’s head snapped up when he heard his youngest son’s broken voice, barely more than a whisper.

“Dean. Dean.”

Pushing himself to his feet, John stumbled forward. “Sammy?” he bellowed. “Sam!”

“Dean, please.”

“Samuel Winchester, you answer me right this moment!” John stopped and cocked his head for a response.

“Daddy? Daddy help me. I can’t get Dean to wake up. Dad!”

In the debris to his left, John saw a torn, ratty mattress sitting at an odd angle. Was it even poss-

“Sam!” He ran to the mattress and started to lift it from the filthy porcelain bathtub it was hiding, but Sam started shouting.

“No, Dad! Wait!”

John stopped and lowered the mattress, even though all he wanted to do was flip it over. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Dean. He’s…he’s stuck…in the mattress.”

John frowned at Sam’s turn of phrase, unable to picture what his son was saying. “Hold on,” he instructed.

Kneeling beside the tub, he gently lifted up one side of the mattress.

“Dad!”

“Shh! Sam, I know.” John peered into the crack he'd created. He could see his youngest, plastered like a baby koala bear around his brother’s side. Everything above Dean’s elbows appeared to be inside the mattress, as if the boy had somehow managed to hold it on top of the tub with brute strength alone. The strategy made sense if there were walls around them, but there was absolutely nothing to keep them from being sucked out of the tub. John briefly wondered if they had somehow created a suction, but shook his head knowing that would have created a vacuum, which would probably mean a lack of air or…

“Is he dead?” Sammy’s whispered question broke through John’s speculation.

Reaching forward, he rested his finger tips along Dean’s neck, and almost wept in relief when he felt a strong heartbeat.

“He saved me, Dad. He saved me.”

John closed his eyes and released a breath that felt like it came from his toes. For once, he wasn’t going to question a miracle. His boys were alive and that was all that mattered.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to extricate his son from his bed, which wasn’t an easy task even under normal circumstances.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“Boys. Sammy. Dean. Wake up. We’re here.”

“Where’s here?” Sam asked from the backseat.

“Nebraska. Waverly.”

When Dean opened his eyes, he found his father sitting behind the steering wheel of the Impala with a Cheshire-like grin on his face.

Sam yawned from the back seat. “Hey, whose house is that?”

“It’s ours.”

His father’s simple words made Dean twist in his seat. The tan house in front of him was definitely nicer than anything they’d stayed in for the last couple of years.

“Dude, seriously?” He looked over at his father, who simply nodded. Dean’s breath caught in his chest. “Seriously?”

John’s smile was like permission and Dean scrambled for the door handle. Sensing his brother’s excitement, Sammy copied Dean’s movements until he was standing by his brother’s side, unconsciously putting his arm around Dean’s waist to help steady him. Most of the gashes on Dean’s arms and ankles, caused when he tried to hold the mattress on top of the tub, had healed, although he still had some trouble with his equilibrium when he stood too quickly.

John got out of the car and joined his sons. “I expect you boys to take good care of her.”

Dean’s smile instantly evaporated. “Where are you going to be?”

“I’ll be here, son.” John clasped Dean’s shoulder. “I’m going to home base from here, but I’m going to leave the care and maintenance to you two.”

“How long?” Dean whispered.

“As long as we possibly can. Maybe even get through a year or two of school.”

Sam’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Seriously?”

“How can we afford this?”

“Don’t you worry about that, son.” John hesitated for a moment when Dean frowned, then shrugged nonchalantly. “I helped a man out with a poltergeist a few years ago.”

Dean looked back at the house. Some place normal for Sammy. A home for him. And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt himself smile.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a mom?”

Sammy Winchester turned and frowned at his best friend, Kevin Meyers. “I don’t.”

“Dude, your house is super clean, like, fru-fru magazine clean.”

“So?”

“How can you afford a maid?”

Sam’s frown deepened. “We can’t.”

“Dude, my mom’s home all day and our house isn’t this clean!”

Laughing, Sammy just shook his head at his friend’s dramatics. “It’s just Dean. Dad put him in charge of the house and it’s gone to his head.”

“Shoes!” a voice called from the back of the house.

“See what I mean?” Sammy immediately started to toe off his shoes and waved at his friend to do the same. Kevin complied, but he silently let Sam know he thought he was a dweeb.

“Cookies!”

“Oh, man, c’mon.” Sammy smacked Kevin’s arm in excitement as he headed toward the kitchen. “Dean bought a tube of Nestle’s chocolate chip cookie dough at the store yesterday.”

“Sammy, my man, wha-- And who is this?”

Sammy rolled his eyes, even as he reached for a cookie. He looked torn for a moment, but handed it to Kevin before he took one for himself. “This is Kevin. Dad said I could invite him over today so that we can work on our science project. Remember?”

“Ah. Okay. Well, you two can work at the table. I’m just going to clean the refrigerator.”

“Okay.” Sammy grinned happily.

“What time is soccer practice tomorrow?” Dean opened the door to the fridge and frowned slightly in disgust.

“It’s right after school. You don’t have to pick me up until five.”

“Cool. Then I’ll leave the stove until tomorrow.”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“Dude, you know your brother’s a freak, right?” Kevin stood beside him on the soccer field while they waited their turn to kick the balls down the field and back again.

Sammy frowned, then turned to find Dean, who he knew would be sitting in the stands. “Why do you say that?”

“Is he your mom or your brother?”

“Just because--”

“Dude, no normal sixteen year old likes to clean house or bake cookies. Even girls don’t like cleaning.”

Sammy frowned again, but could concede that Kevin might have a point regarding cleaning, but he liked Dean’s cookies. According to their dad, he liked them a little too well, but Sammy didn’t care if he was a little chubby, after all, he was playing soccer. And Dean had assured him that he was getting ready for another growth spurt, so any baby fat would disappear soon enough. He wanted to defend his brother, but he didn’t want to tell Kevin that they’d never lived in a real house before and that Dean was just throwing himself into the ‘normal’ experience.

“And he treats you like a baby, Sam-may.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“Whatever, dude.”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

John refused to look at the other parents as he entered the principal’s office, instead keeping his eye on the man in authority. “Why am I here again?”

“Please, Mr. Winchester,” the principal said, in what John assumed was a voice meant to calm. “Your patience would be most appreciated.”

“Sir, my youngest son had his arm sprained by these fine folks’ young men--”

One of the other parents, a man of influence if his demeanor was anything to go by, started to open his mouth, but John turned and gave him the full countenance of his stare. The sound the man’s jaw made when it snapped shut was almost comical. Almost.

“And yet nothing was done. So why am I here now?”

The principal had the decency to appear some what abashed. “They’re claiming your other son, Dean, retaliated.”

“By doing what, exactly?”

“They claim,” and John couldn’t help but notice how the principal kept stressing that word, “he’s responsible for beating up their children.”

John snorted. “Children. You mean their sons? Their senior sons? Their senior football-playing sons?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dean,” and John didn’t even try to keep the condescension from his voice, “my hundred and twenty pound, sixteen year old son thrashed four members of the senior varsity football team?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what they’re claiming.”

John kept his face carefully neutral as he turned once again to face the other parents in the office. Fact of the matter was he had no doubt his wiry son could easily take the football players who had pushed his youngest to the floor, spraining his arm, but he had given Dean a direct order to leave them alone and he was pretty sure Dean wouldn’t have deliberately disobeyed him.

But before he could say anything else, the principal popped a cassette tape into an ancient looking VCR then cleared his throat. “We’ve been having some trouble with vandalism lately, so we’ve installed a series of security cameras to help us keep an eye on matters. The boys are claiming the attack happened last night around ten and I was able to find the appropriate tape. Please direct your attention to the monitor. Keep in mind, we don’t have audio, but I think the tape speaks for itself.”

The picture on the television was rather grainy, but it clearly showed the four boys lounging in various states of repose on a convertible, that was no doubt the talk of the school. John felt his heart sink as he watched a figure approach. Even though he couldn’t see his son’s face, he’d know Dean’s frame and stance anywhere.

As soon as the football players noticed him, they all scrambled to their feet, unconsciously forming a line in front of the car, as if protecting it. Dean’s hands remained at his side, his stance relaxed; however, the longer he stood there, the more agitated the other boys became.

Without warning, the largest of the boys stepped forward, his fists clenching, then to John’s utter shock, the boy turned and slammed his fist into the face of the boy on his right. The parents around him gasped in horror.

Within seconds, all four boys started pummeling each other. John watched intently as his son raised his hands in a warding gesture, as if silently saying he didn’t want any trouble, and slowly backed out of the frame.

The principal shut off the monitor, then turned to face the room again. “When I spoke to Dean about this during school today, he admitted to being the boy on the tape. He told me he simply wanted to talk to the boys, although I don’t believe for a second it was going to be a rational conversation; but be that as it may, when he got out there, he said they started talking about a fight club. Now, I’ve been worried about something like this happening ever since that infernal movie came out, but I’m here to tell you all now, that I will not tolerate that sort of chicanery in my school.”

Focusing his attention on John, the principal schooled his features into one of abject apology. “Mr. Winchester, I sincerely apologize for not acting on the earlier incident with judicious haste. If I had, maybe I could have kept events from escalating. As it is, I have no choice but to suspend Charles, Jordan, Brian and Zachery for two weeks.”

One of the fathers jumped to his feet. “You can’t do that. Homecoming is this weekend.”

“And your sons should have thought of that before they initiated this little fight club of theirs. Sam Winchester may have been the first child actually injured by your boys, but he wasn’t the first one harassed. And before you say another word, Mr. Sampson, the gall of the boys to blame this on another is unconscionable. I will not tolerate this sort of thing in my school.”

“You can’t--” another one of the fathers started.

“I can and already have. You all have my decision. Good day.”

While the other parents filed out of the room, grumbling under their breath about seeing what the school board had to say about this injustice, John remained rooted by the desk until only he and the principal were left.

The principal turned to face him. “Again, Mr. Winchester, you have my sincerest apologies. The board has authorized me to reimburse you for any medical bills Sam might have incurred as a result of his hazing.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Is there anything we can do for either you or Sam?”

John nodded absently. “Do you mind if I take another look at that tape?”

The principal cocked his head to one side, clearly not understanding the reasoning behind the request, but nodded. “Of course. I need to go talk to one of my teachers, but feel free to take as much time as you need.”

As the principal said earlier, the quality of the tape had a lot to be desired, but that didn’t keep John from scrutinizing the action on the screen. John couldn’t find anything that didn’t back what the principal claimed had happened, but, on a hunch, he let the tape continue past where the principal had stopped it earlier.

The boys continued to fight for several minutes after Dean left the frame, but there was something about the boys’ body language that bothered John. Even though each of them was throwing punches as if their lives depended on it, not one of them made any sort of attempt to block or avoid the incoming blows. In addition, their stances were all wrong, leaning back every so slightly instead of forward, as if they really didn’t want their blows to land. When the fighting finally stopped, their bodies slumped in a combination of terror and relief, which didn’t make any sense at all.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“I’ve got ice cream!” Dean entered the kitchen and stopped when he found his father sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. “Dad? What’s wrong? Is Sammy okay?”

“Sam’s fine,” John replied dully. Looking up, he asked, “What did you do, Dean?”

Dean blinked in confusion. “I just went out real quick to get some ice cream for Sammy. I thought--”

John lowered his arms. “I’m not talking about the damn ice cream, boy,” he said in a sharper tone. “I want to know what you did to those boys who hurt Sammy.”

Keeping his face as neutral as possible, Dean pulled the ice cream carton from the plastic bag and put it in the freezer. “I didn’t do anything to them.”

“I told you to leave them alone.”

“And I didn’t lay a hand on them!”

Dean blanched as his father pushed himself away from the table and closed the distance between them.

“What did you do?” John asked, deceptively soft.

“Dad, I didn’t do anything.”

“Was it a spell?”

“A what?”

“Did you force those boys to fight each other?”

“I don’t--”

“If I toss your room am I going to find a spell book?”

“If you toss my room, all you’re going to find is my Playboy stash.” Dean tried to joke, but knew his voice betrayed him. He met his father’s eyes, refusing to flinch as his father moved closer.

John studied him for several moments before he spoke again. “Pack up.”

“What?” Dean’s stomach dropped to his knees. “Dad, no. You said we could stay here for a year or two.”

“And it’s been over a year.”

“But Dad--”

“Do you have any idea who those boy's fathers are, Dean? Do you?”

Dean swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

“One’s the bank president, another owns the local grocery store, while one is a deputy and the last one is a councilmember. Do you think, for one second, that I’m going to be able to leave you boys unattended with the sort of attention we’ll be receiving from now on?”

“But Dad--”

John stepped back and pivoted. “Sam, start packing!”

“No.” Sam stood in the doorway of the kitchen shaking his head. “Dad, please,” he whispered.

“This is not a discussion, boys. Get moving!”

“But, my friends--”

“Enough, Sam! I’m not arguing with you. I have to go out, but I’ll be back within the hour. You boys better be packed and ready to go by then. Anything not boxed and on the front porch will be left behind.”

And with that, John turned and left.

“What did you do?” The accusation was thick in his brother’s trembling voice.

Dean turned and looked at Sam, who was practically shaking with rage. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. It was all over the school today. Everyone was calling you a freak.”

“Just because a couple of assholes decided to pound on each other doesn’t make me a freak.”

“Kevin told me they’re saying you did something to them, that they couldn’t stop themselves, that you forced them to fight each other.”

“Right,” Dean said with derision. Pushing past his brother he moved down the hallway toward his room. “Because I can force football players to do anything I want, whenever I want.”

Sam followed. “Did you put a spell on them, Dean?”

“No.” Entering his bedroom, Dean took a quick mental inventory, trying to figure out what he wanted to keep and what would have to be left behind. He knew it wouldn’t take long to pack the necessities, which would give him plenty of time to pack his father’s things as well.

“I know you did something to them.”

Dean snorted, but refused to face his brother. “You don’t know shit. You better start packing, otherwise Dad’ll get back and you won’t have any of your books boxed up.”

“This is your fault.”

Turning, Dean placed his hands on his hips and frowned. “And how do you figure that?”

“You’ve been a freak ever since we got here. Cooking and cleaning and acting like my mom instead of my brother. We had it good here, Dean. I got to play soccer and have friends, but you ruined it. I don’t know what you did, but I know you did something, and for that I will never forgive you. Never.”

“Sammy--”

“It’s Sam, and I don’t want to talk to you ever again.” With that, Sam turned and ran to his room.

Dean closed his eyes and released a deep sigh. “Great. Just great,” he whispered. A part of him tried to feel guilty, but he couldn’t quite muster it.

Even though Sam had been taking a wild shot in the dark about what he’d done, he’d been right about one thing: his fellow students had been looking at him differently when he walked the halls between classes. Some had looked at him curiously, wondering what all the fuss was about, while others had looked frightened, like they were worried he was suddenly going to go batfuck insane and start shooting up the place. The rest had looked at him with revulsion.

Dean had read enough comics and sat through enough history classes to know that with great power came horrible choices. He'd sworn never to use his power for evil purposes, and was pretty sure what he'd done didn’t technically qualify as evil. After all, those assholes had hurt Sam and thought they could get away with it because of who their daddies were. But if there was one thing that John Winchester had drilled into Dean's head was that no one messed with the Winchesters and walked away scott-free. No one. Whether it be human or supernatural.

Dean found his duffle bag and slammed it onto his bed. What Sam didn’t seem to realize was that they were never going to stay in Waverly forever. It just wasn’t in the cards. Their dad was too intent on finding the thing that had killed their mother and making sure it never hurt anyone again. Besides, Sam had gotten over a year of normal, which was, quite frankly, a lot more than Dean ever thought they’d get.

Things had been getting stagnant anyway. It was time to move on.

Biting the inside of his mouth as hard as he could, ignoring the coppery taste of blood that filled his mouth, Dean tried to hold the lie up to the light of truth, tried to believe it, but ended up shaking his head in disgust. Maybe in time, but for now, he knew he’d better get packed.

Blowing out a puff of air, he tried to calm his nerves, but failed. Both his father and brother would be watching him closely now, looking for signs of what he’d done. Dean snorted. Let them look. Let dad go through his possessions with a fine tooth comb. They wouldn’t find anything.

Everyone else on the planet got by just fine without using any powers. Dean could do the same. And while a part of him was sad, feeling like he was denying his mother, he knew it would be better in the long run for everyone concerned.

“I’m still the world’s best big brother,” he whispered to himself, wishing he still believed it.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“Tell dad I’m sorry. Okay?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sam.”

“Tell him--”

“Dude. Seriously. We’re not doing the last speech thing here because (a) you’re not going to die and (b) I am so not having that socially awkward conversation with dad. Ever. So shut up and let me figure out how I’m going to get you back up here.”

“I don’t blame you, you know?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who should have bobbed instead of weaved.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Dean studied the tiny ledge his brother was currently lying supine on and knew it was only a matter of time before it collapsed under his brother’s weight. He wasn’t worried about being able to bring his brother up safely, just doing it without Sam being the wiser. “Then what?” he asked absently.

“I don’t blame you for making us move from Waverly.”

“Geez, Sam, that was almost four years ago.”

“I know you were trying to protect me in your own way.”

“Sammy, this is sounding suspiciously like chick flick talk.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Fine, now I know. Will you please be quiet?”

Sam obeyed for almost a minute before he spoke again. “So how are you going to get me up?”

Dean looked down and found his brother’s gaze on him. “Don’t worry, Sam. I’m not going to let you fall.”

“I know.”

Glancing at his watch, he knew their father would be looking for them soon and knew he needed to get Sam up as quickly as possible. “Okay, I want you to close your eyes.”

“What? Why?”

Dean didn’t even attempt to suppress his sigh. “Look, Sam, I need to work my way down to you--”

“The cliff wall won’t hold your weight, Dean, you’ll--”

“Will you just shut up and trust me for once? I mean it, Sam. Just close your eyes and keep your yap closed. I don’t want any dirt or debris getting in your eyes, because if it does, you’re going to flinch and that could be a very bad thing.”

Sam made an unhappy noise, but complied.

“Tighter.”

“What?” Sam opened his eye again.

“Shut them really, really tight.”

“Alright, you jerk.”

“Hey, I’m not the bitch who fell over the side of a cliff.”

“Sure, throw that in my face.”

Dean snorted with amusement. “Come on, Sam. I don’t have all afternoon.”

When Sam complied again, Dean took great pains to make it sound like he was working his way down the cliff. “Keep them closed.”

“They’re closed. They’re closed.”

Keeping pressure on Sam’s back and legs, hoping to make him think he was still lying on the ledge, Dean mentally lifted Sam up the face of the cliff. When he was chest height, he wrapped his arms around Sam’s legs and back, then gently lowered him to the ground.

“Okay, open them.” Dean sat back on his knees as Sam blinked his eyes open. “Ta-da.”

“How…how…”

“Never mind that. Are you good to walk?”

Sam planted his right foot on the ground and winced in pain. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

Dean moved toward the foot in question and prodded the ankle. “What’s with you and sprains?”

“I--”

“Come on, give me your hand. We’ll just take it slow.” Dean offered his hand and pulled his brother to his feet, then positioned himself under Sam’s arm.

“Dad’s going to be mad when we’re late.”

“Yeah, well I think he’ll be lenient considering we killed the kobold.”

Sam snorted in disgust. “So much for this just being a scouting mission.”

“Hey, weren’t you the one who wanted me to tell dad you were sorry? Or was that the other kid hanging off the side of the cliff?”

“Yeah, well, we shouldn’t even be out here in the first place. I mean, come on, Dean, you know--”

“Don’t start, Sam. I’m begging you.”

“I’m just saying that if he hadn’t--”

Dean sighed and tuned his brother out. Some things never changed.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“You could come with me.”

Dean had to lean toward his brother in order to catch the whispered words above the crowd whirling around their bench. He swallowed hard, but shook his head. “I can’t, Sam. You know I can’t.”

“You could.”

The overhead intercom announced the arrival of Sam’s bus and the tension between them practically vibrated.

“You know he didn’t mean it.”

Sam picked at the frayed edges of his jeans. “Yes, he did.”

“Sam--”

Sam could feel the sadness radiating off his brother and felt his resolve start to waiver. “Maybe, I should just--”

“No.” Dean refused to look at Sam. “You’ve always wanted normal, ever since Waverly. You’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t at least give it a try.”

“I’m not sure I can do it on my own.”

“Yes, you can, Sam. You know you can. You’ve always been the smart one. Smarter than me. Hell, maybe even smarter than dad. You’ll figure it out. And it’s not like we won’t ever talk again. I’ll call, whenever I can.”

“No.”

Dean raised his face so that his gaze caught Sam’s. “What?”

“I’m not that strong, Dean, despite what you think. If you call, I’ll want to come back with my tail between my legs.”

“You’re not saying--”

“It’s the only way. If I’m going to give this a fair shake, I have to go cold turkey, otherwise it’ll be too easy to beg you to come rescue me. Again.”

“Sam, no.”

Sam turned on the bench. “Please, Dean. Come with me.”

“I can’t leave him in the darkness by himself. You know what’s out there, how he gets when he gets focused. Someone has to watch his back.”

“What are you going to do when he finds out?”

“Finds out what?”

“Finds out about your power.”

Sam watched his brother’s face pale, making his freckles stand out even more than they normally did. “He already knows about my power over the opposite sex, Sammy.”

Sam tried to smile, but it hurt too much to project. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“He won’t understand why you never told him, why you kept it a secret.”

“I--”

“I know, because I don’t understand.”

“Sammy--”

“Don’t call me, Dean. I mean it. But if you ever want to quit, ever want to try normal yourself, come find me. You’ll know where I’ll be.”

“Sam--”

“I’m going to be very angry with you for a long time, Dean. It’s nothing personal. It’s just…how I’m going to cope.”

The overhead speaker announced that it was time for passengers to start boarding the bus. Sam stood and looked down at his brother.

“Don’t die.”

Dean shook his head a little, then raised his eyes. “Back at ya.”

“And don’t use it anymore, Dean. He won’t understand. Promise me. It’s important.”

“I promise,” Dean mouthed, although there was no volume to his words.

Sam started to turn, his eyes widening when his body refuse to move. “Dean,” he pleaded.

Dean shook himself then stood, looking his brother in the face. “Good-bye, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.”

“It’s bitch.”

“Jerk.”

And still, Sam couldn’t move.

“You can do this, Dean. You can let me go.”

“How?” It was the closest Sam had ever heard his brother sound like a little kid.

Sam cleared his throat. “You told me back in Waverly, you wanted me to know normal.”

“Yeah, well that was then.”

“I won’t forget dad’s lessons. Or yours. I know how to keep my eyes open and to take in everything around me. I know how to stay safe.”

“Yeah. Okay, but--”

“And I know better than to piss off any football players.”

Dean’s smile looked like a shattered glass, still holding its shape, but just barely. All it would take was one small breeze to send it cascading into a million little pieces.

“I need you to be the strong one right now, Dean. I need you to be the one to walk away.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Dean’s voice trembled and Sam felt his resolve quickly fading, but he gave it one last try. “You can. Because you know I need to be mad at you. You know I won’t be able to do this unless I’m really mad at you. Please, Dean.”

“Mad, huh?”

“Boiling.”

Dean blinked, took a deep breath and released it slowly. When he inhaled again, Sam could see him reinforcing his mental walls, withdrawing from him, pretending that Sam wasn’t killing him by leaving. “Whatever.”

He looked Sam in the eyes once, then spun on his heels and stalked out of the bus terminal, without a touch, without a good-bye.

It wasn’t until Dean was completely out of sight that Sam discovered he could move again. He was almost to the bus when he felt a sharp slap to the back of his head. He spun around, but there wasn’t anyone near him. He tried to tell himself, as he climbed into the bus, that it had been a stranger passing the other way, but couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Jericho had been a bust. He still had no clue where his father was or why he'd disappeared in the first place, and now he was going to have to let Sam go. Again. Dean could feel the façade he’d been trying so hard to maintain during the hunt start to slip, but he grit his teeth and plastered on a smile he didn’t come anywhere close to feeling as he pulled the Impala in front of Sam’s apartment building.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“You didn’t…umm.”

“Didn’t what?”

Sam fidgeted in the seat beside him as Dean turned toward him.

A fine blush rose over Sam’s cheeks, and he couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from his knees.

“You’re wondering if Dad left because I used my power in front of him, that he ditched me because he couldn’t cope with the thought of having a freak for a son, something he might eventually have to hunt?”

“Dean, no.” Sam’s voice was gaspy, like he couldn’t believe Dean had actually said the words aloud.

“No, Sam. I haven’t used my power,” Dean said curtly.

“In front of him or in general?”

Dean turned back toward the steering wheel, refusing to answer his brother’s question.

“Can you fly?”

“What? No?”

“Have you tried?”

Dean snorted with derision. “Have I tried?” he repeated back, mockingly.

Sam chuckled. “You totally landed in a tree.”

“Shut up.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

Dean looked pointedly at him. “Don’t you have an interview in a couple of hours?”

Sam grinned, but it slowly faded as he nodded. Silently, he got out of the car, shut the passenger side door, then leaned down and peered through the window. “Call me when you find him.”

“Sure.” Dean knew he wouldn’t call, even if he found his father. Sam deserved to go back to his life, to not have to worry about credit card fraud or things that went bump in the night.

“Maybe I can meet up with you later.”

Dean cruelly doused the hope that sprang in his chest when he recognized the lie in Sam’s eyes. “Yeah. All right.”

Sam dropped his gaze. Dean watched his brother stand, and something within him broke. He couldn’t leave again without saying anything. Screw Sam and his need to stay mad. “Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah.”

“You know we made a hell of a team back there.”

A smile teased the corners of Sam’s mouth. “Yeah.”

Dean nodded once, then put the Impala in drive and pulled away from the curb. He watched Sam in the rearview mirror watching him leave, and quickly turned the car onto the next side street, even though it wouldn’t take him in the direction he wanted to go, but needing to get out of Sam’s line of sight as quickly as possible.

But the farther Dean drove, the more he felt…wrong. As a hunter, he knew better than to ignore his feelings, but as an older brother who was once again walking away, he wasn’t sure his gut could be trusted. He wondered if he should find a motel off the interstate to hole up in until dawn, to see if he could shake the feeling before he headed off to Colorado.

He looked at his watch and felt an icy fist clench around his stomach. It was eleven fifty-five, November second.

He made an abrupt u-turn and raced back to the apartment. He was out of the car a mere second after he grabbed the keys out of the ignition and practically flew up the stairs.

Slashing the air with his hand as he approached the door, he heard it unlock, then pushed it open with his mind.

“Sam!”

The living room was empty, as was the kitchen.

“Jess!”

Dean found himself in the doorway of Sam’s bedroom, taking in the bizarre scene before him. Sam’s blonde girlfriend was on the ceiling, and Sam was lying on the bed in shock. Without thinking, Dean threw a protective bubble around Jessica at the same time the ceiling caught fire. Dean threw the bubble onto the bed, on top of Sam, then grabbed both of them and shoved them through the doorway as the fire chased them like an angry living entity.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Looking around the motel room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Dean gathered the last of his clothes and tossed them haphazardly into his duffle bag. He knew Sam wasn’t going to be happy to find him missing, but he also knew their father’s trail was getting colder each day he stayed in Palo Alto.

Jessica’s stomach wound hadn’t been too severe, more messy than deep. The bubble he'd managed to get around her had kept her from being burned. And while that thought filled him with a certain amount of pride, he couldn’t help but wonder if there might've been a way to have saved his mother, even knowing it had taken him years to perfect the protective sphere. However, understanding something with his head was different than understanding it with his heart.

But with his pride, came guilt. He'd brought this disaster to Sam and Jessica. Somehow, he'd led something to them, and while he and Sam were tracking down their father, it had gone after Jess. The thought filled him with shame.

Sam and Jess had been safe before he came. Maybe, just maybe, they’d be safe after he left. His indecision was tearing him in two. Half of him was screaming at him to find their father, knowing that John could make everything better; while the other half was insisting he stay and make sure that Sam and Jess remained safe.

A knock broke through his reverie. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he opened the motel door to find Jessica and his brother standing in front of him.

“Going somewhere?” Jess moved slowly past him, then gently lowered herself onto the bed beside his duffle bag.

“I…I don’t know,” he admitted honestly.

Sam stepped into the room, forcing Dean to take a step back. “We need to find Dad.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“I’ve told Jess everything.”

Dean blinked at his brother, then turned to study Jess.

Jessica shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “What? You’re expecting me to be skeptical after a man pinned me to the ceiling and told me that I was getting in the way of Sam’s destiny but was rescued by an invisible bubble when the ceiling caught on fire?”

Looking back at Sam, Dean fumbled to find the right thing to say.

“I can’t leave her behind, Dean. There’s a chance it’ll go after her again.”

“I agree.” Dean was going to give his pitch for them staying behind, until he saw the resolve on both of their faces. “Well, then I guess we have some work to do.”

Sam nodded, but looked hesitant. Dean noticed him looking toward Jess, as if for strength.

“What?” Dean asked irritably.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah.”

“You better sit down.”

“Sam, just out with it.”

Sam took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay. You see, lately I’ve been having these dreams…”

 

~End~


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